This week I went to apply for my NY driver’s license. I don’t remember much about getting my license in Seattle but I appear to be smiling in the photograph and my hair was having a good moment. I do recall cheating off M for the written component of the California exam. Sadly, I was halfway through when I realized we had different tests.
Summer is exhausting. I got up early to run, jumped into the shower, and threw my hair into a bun atop my head, promising myself I’d think about it later. I got everyone to camp, blah, blah, and Frances and I made our way to the DMV.
(If any of you happen to find yourselves in downtown Yonkers, check out the Civil War memorial. My kids think I’ve never met a war memorial I didn’t like, especially a Great War memorial. But the Civil War is a crowd pleaser (In the crowd: Me), because there’s generally a canon around:
I filled out the paperwork and readied myself for my photo. I looked at the kind woman behind the desk.
“Up?” I asked, pointed at the hairy donut atop my head.
“Or down?” I said, pulling out the elastic and letting the mass of hair fall around me.
“Uh,” she said. “I think you might want to put it up.” And she quickly looked away. I honestly think she was concerned there would not be enough room in the photo frame for me and my hair. Or maybe she was afraid that if she looked at me for too long she’d turn to stone.
Up, it was. Up in Yonkers.